


Growth

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 00:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11429430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Kurt reflects on post-graduation life.





	Growth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Personality derived from within, but personal identity derived from without.

It wasn't until Kurt graduated from McKinley, successfully boxed up all the pertinent pieces of his life to carry with him into the next phase of it, and moved to New York that the full meaning of the words childhood home sank in.

In some fashion -- and doubtless sometime in the indeterminable future under new ownership -- there would always be a residence in Lima, Ohio that belonged innately to Kurt Hummel.  More accurately, he belonged to it, sculpted by its halls and doors and rooms.  He'd spent countless hours sheltered from storms under its roof, poring over knowledge and heartache and joy in its airy spaces.  The basement had been his haven for years, providing an outlet for his inner creativity without risking exposure to a vigilant and ruthlessly unforgiving world.  When he'd finally transitioned from the lowest level to the highest junior year, he'd made the move easily, eager to seize any opportunity to reclaim his space in a new and dynamic way.

There were accommodations to be made -- among others: sunlight streaming in his windows, less space to fit all of the strange and wonderful things that he found to fill it with -- but the results were worth it.  He liked having a dedicated space where he could lock himself away and nurse his own wounds, where he could work on various projects and see the fruits of his labor come together, where he could be without being judged.

It was his and his alone, and when he packed up for New York, he struggled to part with the inconsequential things at, for two years, had been an inherent part of his room: the little elephant paperweight, the white triangle bookends, the pictures scattered tastefully across his shelves, the other items that subtly and overwhelmingly made the space his own.

Moving into the loft was such a gratifying experience that he hadn't even felt the shockwave until almost a week had passed.  It wasn't until the dazed amazement had receded enough to allow concern to creep in that he realized the magnitude of what he was doing.  He was rewriting himself from the ground up, choosing a new life that catered to his own needs rather than those dictated by someone else.  Even the luxury of being able to sleep in and stay up late eating bagels by candlelight was thrillingly unfamiliar.

It was daunting, and it took him a month to catch his breath and find his footing as they compartmentalized the space into more usable rooms.  There were arguments over space that Kurt still wasn't used to, ones that simmered between them, stifling in their apartment, roomy as it was.  He missed the full privacy of his own home, missed being able to fold up on his bed and ignore the chafing reality beyond the four walls, but he liked the ability to go out, too, to snatch up a key and plunge into a world of constant motion.  He loved being part of a sea of strangers, able to strike out in any direction and find new things in every corner.

They'd started to get their footing and then things had fallen apart for Kurt, beginning with the breakup and tumbling farther from there.  Kurt didn't know how to fill the space, the emptiness in his life without Blaine there.  His things were still and lifeless and inanimate, incapable of expressing sympathy or pain on his behalf, and even the comforting trinkets of his past seemed too distant from his present to be of any use to him.

So he turned to different means, engaging in as many social things as he could tolerate to keep his mind busy and returning to an empty home at odd hours.  When the loneliness reached an ache that he could no longer quietly stomach, he baked, channeling himself into productivity.  When even that failed to alleviate the knot in his chest, he turned to the Internet for help and found Bruce.

After nearly six months of living alongside Rachel and Santana and tolerating his suffering quietly to avoid embarrassment over alternative solutions, Kurt purchased the boyfriend pillow without a hint of hesitation, alone in the dark at two in the morning.

Shame, he'd learned, was a wasted emotion.

Slowly the space became his, without Blaine -- Without Blaine, a proclamation that seemed irreversible at times -- until Blaine became his again.

They weren't the same as they'd been eight months prior, when breakups were a distant and unspeakable horror, but Kurt wasn't the same and neither was Blaine.  They were more aware and it made them more cautious.  Kurt didn't know if he could ever have avoided Blaine indefinitely -- he doubted it, except that he knew that he could have, chilling though the possibility was -- but he'd been even less sure that they could ever come together in a way that resembled the amount of passion that their former romance had boasted.

Like all things, it wasn't the same, but it was even better, somehow, once they both got their footing again.

Then Blaine had graduated and moved in, and suddenly Kurt's space wasn't exclusively his anymore (not that it had ever been exclusively his at the loft with two other roommates, but there had still been barriers that no one else was permitted to cross).  He'd tried to accommodate, to ease away from his own attachments to allow room for Blaine, but the steady decline of his own personal touches felt like the erasure of himself.

He'd held it in for as long as he could, breathing through the unfamiliarity and willing the compromises to work, until they weren't working, and then they had no choice but to talk it through.

In the end, Blaine had moved out.

And the space had been so vast, so infinite, that Kurt had huddled emptily on their bed the first night, utterly sleepless.  The space was more barren than ever without Blaine there, and he struggled to compensate, to reintroduce himself into the space without diminishing their progress.

He liked some of the things that Blaine had introduced -- and he knew that Blaine liked his own touches, too -- but Kurt also knew that Blaine needed his own space, something to separate them without dividing them, spaces where they could be without needing to compromise each other.

So he'd turned his attention to the one untouched corner of the loft and transformed it into a work space, basic enough that Blaine could still make adjustments but already featuring some of Kurt's touches to welcome him.

The sheer radiance of Blaine's smile had been worth it, and the ease that Kurt had welcomed him home -- to his home, Blaine's home, their home -- had soothed any lingering fears about their ability to work through future space conflicts.

Growth meant change and change often meant challenge, adjustment and accommodation.  Even retaining his passion for music and fashion, Kurt knew that it was the little touches that mattered most, the things that made the loft his home that defined him.

Home, he surmised, was where he longed to be, where he centered himself and reached outward from, where he always had a trusted place and a chance to grow.

As far as he was concerned, there was nowhere that he would rather be than Blaine's arms, his soft, even breathing at last lulling Kurt to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
